The Hunt
by petapan
Summary: Tessa is a distraction; impairing Will's training, yet turning Jem's attention away from Will's nightly activities. This story is an account of Will's nights in the darkest corners of London, and delves into the Will Herondale before he was allowed to love freely. He hunts the city for not only the cure to his curse, but the illness that is killing his parabatai.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Everyone, this is my first ever story and I'm so excited to start it! Hope you enjoy, and every review is a welcome one.**

* * *

It was late; the night had long ago swallowed up the streets of the city. This left only those who knew of the dangers lurking behind every corner, hiding in the darkness, and those who were such dangers. Shadows scuttled through alleyways, shoulders hunched trying to conceal their deformed faces. Any mundane to see their true forms would surely die from fright with one glance. For the creatures of the night were those of the shadow world.

Only one walked the back streets of London that night with confidence.

A single figure strode down Abbey Street, boots clacking against the uneven cobbled stone and disturbing the small lakes that had formed due to the afternoon's rain. With each turn of a corner, the figure's cloak swung out from the body, revealing a tailored gentleman's coat. The man was tall, with broad shoulders, although lying beneath the cloth was a body with a hidden strength. Anyone dressed as such would have been a sure target for thieves and murderers in London's underworld. Yet it was the misfortune of anything that thought that this gentleman would be an easy target. Within the inner pockets of the coat lining hung two blades, that when called upon would shine like white fire. Sheathed in the top of his boot, a dagger engraved with strange markings. This was no ordinary gentleman.  
The figure rounded a final corner and stopped at a door. He paused in thought before knocking on the gnarled rotting piece of oak, hand hovering for just a moment. Then the thought was gone. They rapped on the door twice, briskly. It swung open, and a slice of light cut through the dark of the alley illuminating a fraction of the man's face. He was a young man, more of a boy, about seventeen. "Nephilim. You are late, again." The voice was a rasping drawl, yet was unmistakably female.  
"As always Hana, it is a pleasure to see you." Replied the boy on the doorstep, inclining his head in mock etiquette. As he tipped his head mass of delicately wild black curls fell about his face. Will Herondale looked up into the glare of the light from inside the doorway, his eyes a storm of blue.  
"Get in before I-" started the voice inside the door.

"Don't mind if I do, as I think it's going to start raining again." And he pushed his way inside, before the door slammed shut.

* * *

Will was ambushed with smells and sounds as he stepped to the side of the long hallway. The velvet walls were deep rouge, with a seemingly random scattering of different gas lamps across its length. He could hear the raucous laughter, more like cackling, of Downworlders through the walls of the hall, yet he couldn't see anything but the ongoing hallway. It was better this way; he didn't want to know what went on in this place. The scent was an inviting mixture of damp wallpaper and a strangely sweet cigar smoke that he unwittingly leant forwards to inhale more of. The shape beside him snapped out a long pale green arm with blackened nails onto his chest, pushing Will back to stand upright. "Should have more sense than to sniff in the faerie leaf, boy." Will looked at Hana. She was a warlock, and not the most unattractive one he had come across either. Her face was elegantly sculpted, and she had long black hair that hid a wicked smile. Yet her teeth and nails were black, and Will preferred his lovers less well, _green._  
"Do I have to pay for that counsel also, Hana?" he asked, eying a strange painting of a naked woman on the wall hanging askew. The warlock snorted. She began walking down the hallway.

"Not for my favourite child of Raziel," Hana's lips curled up at the edges, "yet I will be requiring… payment, for the usual service."

"Yes, yes, you'll get your silly kiss. When have I ever denied you that?" Will spoke mockingly, his usual choice of tone, trying to provoke an angered response.

"Only a mortal would underestimate the worth of a kiss," Hana said lifting her lamp higher as they stopped at a small narrow door, and she drew a key from her dress, her face no longer holding the same smile. "Both your time and my patience grows thin. I shall allow you till dawns first light to search for what you seek, but no longer. I risk too much even with others knowing you are here."

Will's face too had darkened. There was a sadness that seemed to draw the youth from his cheeks, and the light from his beautiful eyes. Hana turned the key, and let the door swing open. She glanced at him, before striding quickly back the way they had come and disappearing into a side room. "I know that more than anyone else." Will's voice was barely a whisper. _I will find more time Jem. I will, brother._


	2. Chapter 2

Will had been to Hana's house on Abbey Street three times in the past two months. The walk, the house, and of course the warlock were now familiar to him. But he did not let that make him feel comfortable with his surroundings. He was ever alert. A Shadowhunter knew the tricks that a warlock could play. Kidnappings were not only a thing of the mundane world. Yet having a self-assured manner aided Will in his search. He let the door swing shut behind him, and he was thrown into darkness. _No. Not complete darkness, _he thought.

To the left of the room, there was a faint glimmer. The light was moving in a way that no one could place its source to a single point in the room, but will knew what it was and strode across to stand before it. The air before him seemed to shimmer. He felt the hairs rise on his skin before he stepped forwards into the portal. Will felt himself being pulled in all directions and there was a rushing sound in his ears, as if he had been caught by a strong tide and dragged under. He recognised the sensation - he though of it as if he had jumped from some height. Will flew from the air and stumbled gracefully into a large domed room.

The circular space was encompassed by a series of tall marble columns. Yet they were not pale pearly marble, but a dark red, the colour of oxblood. The tiles laid on the floor beneath his sodden leather boots were a chessboard black and white. Will saw himself a thousand times in the mirrors that spanned the entire circumference of the room. In the center of the floor, was a large oak table. On the table was a book. It's leather cover had been long ago covered in gold leafing, mimicking the scales of a mermaid's tail. It was not so glorious as perhaps it once had been, now, as Will stared at the grimoire with tired eyes. But inside his chest, there was a fluttering. Similar in fact to the same flutter his heart felt whenever Tess, _his Tess_, was in the same room as he was. For this was because Will Herondale loved books and in his heart, each had a place. Books were his escape, his refuge, his home. Every word was savoured in his eyes before looking to the next. Although this particular book, was a little more arduous to devour.

Will approached the oak table and hopped onto it beside the grimoire, like he had seen Church leap onto tables many a time. From the inside of his coat, Will pulled another leather bound mass of pages. Although this was not a novel, but a journal. Page upon page covered in the scrawlings of a desperate man. Out of his pocket, he also fished a blue ink pen that Charlotte had given to him on his fifteenth birthday, and then heaved up the pages of the grimoire to the last page he had been reading the time before. The script was ancient, not Greek or Latin but something that could have been said to resemble a little of both. In the corner of each page were runes of all different shapes and designs, for this was an old Shadowhunter spell book. Will wished he had paid more attention whilst Henry had taught him and Jem the ancient languages, as he sighed and set to work translating the page. _Jem._

* * *

Will was muttering to himself as he bounded up the front steps of the Institute in the early hours of the morning. The sun was merely a promise on the horizon; the sky dashed with blood. He didn't realise that James Carstairs was sitting on the top step. "Tell me, how _is_ Six Fingered Nigel these days? I really do think you're becoming rather fond of him." Jem held that familiar look of scorn in his high cheeks as he regarded his parabatai. Yet there was no hint of such scorn in his voice.

Will stopped in his steps, wondering why his heightened senses hadn't noticed the presence of another. _I know why you didn't see_ him, said his mind._ You were thinking about the future._ Will shook his head, trying to abandon the terrifying thought of losing Jem. "I decided he was better company than others," Will said with a grin on his face.

"It saddens me to hear you say such a thing!" Jem replied with mock indignation. "I never knew I was such a poor companion. Or are you in fact not speaking of me, but instead the beautiful young woman inside these doors?" Will stiffened. _He means Tessa._ There was a sad smile resting upon Jem's lips as he regarded Will's reaction for the second that it was bared.

"Oh her. Yes I quite forgot about our delightful guest." Jem sighed.

"I suppose anyone would forget a guest if they shut themselves in the library all day," So Jem _had_ begun to pick up on Will's odd behavior. Nevertheless he acted unphased by Jem's observation.

"As I said, Six Fingered Nigel and William Beckford are much more satisfactory company than anyone else around this place. Excluding Church maybe. He's always got a lot to say." A gust of wind picked up suddenly, ruffling both of the Shadowhunter's coats, and blowing stray curls into Will's eyes. When he brushed them away he saw that Jem was standing, and saw also the slight strain of effort in the cords of his neck. Will thought of the room with the book he had been in only hours ago. He saw the faded pages, the secrets that they held, and the wrinkled spine. The gnarled antique oak table, and the checkerboard floor beneath it. He saw them both on the floor. _Jem looked nothing more than a corpse – pale and beautiful, like a ghost. The second boy was cradling the body in one muscled arm, shaking it gently and with the free hand tracing the lines of an _iratze_ on the Asian boy's chest._ Will's eyes looked up from the body in his arms into Jem's silvery-pooled irises. They stood together, in the red light of London's dawn, eye to eye. It was Will who broke the link, turning to the large ornately carved doors of the Institute, as they swung open. He felt a hand on his arm, it was Jem. "Come and play cards with me." Jem asked, yet it was not truly a question, as he knew that Will would do it.

"Be warned Carstairs, for it is known that I am the best at 'Black Jacks' in all of London's tavern world!" Will perked up. He straightened his shoulders as Jem's hand dropped back to his side and Will began to walk into the large entrance of his home.

He almost skipped down the corridor, lightly illuminating the way with his witchlight stone. As Will pulled his gloves off finger by finger with his teeth, he did not look up in time to see the approaching figure in the semi-darkness. The silent shape hit him as he strode into it, and it cried out. "Ouch! What the-" Will had bumped into Tessa, on her way to ask Sophie for a herbal remedy for her headache.

"You should really watch where you are going. Or this that just an American thing?" Will was in no mood for combatting his internal demons any further tonight. _Or should I say this morning_. Tessa shifted her weight to one side crossly and narrowed her eyes at him. _Her warm inviting brown eyes with thick curled lashes that fluttered like tiny angel's wings on her delicate_ cheeks, Will mentally scolded himself._ Shut up_.

"I should have known you would have been up all night pleasuring yourself in dens of vice, Mr. Herondale," Tessa tried to keep as much irritation out of her voice as she could hold without giving in to the urge to hit his smug face.

"My dear sweet girl. I would not want to offend thine ears with such tales of wickedness. It is my duty as a Shadowhunter to protect those, _such as yourself_, from the horrors of the city. And I take my duty very, very seriously." He started walking away at that moment, yet it felt more like tearing his heart out to leave her standing there. Like a stage actor recounting a dramatic monologue, Will said over his shoulder, "Goodnight, Tessa.

'I am a soldier,

A name that in my thoughts becomes me best

…

If your pure maidens fall into the hand

Of hot and forcing violation?

What rein can hold licentious wickedness'."

Tessa stood with her mouth a little open before scowling at Will's back, although she was willing him to stop walking and turn to face her. "Shakespeare, Henry V," she said bluntly. Then, "Will?" she called to him. Will stopped, still not turning to face her. "Goodnight." Tessa watched the young boy who made her chest flutter walk away until his witchlight went out, and she was left suspended alone in the black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys – a quick apology for the mistake I made in saying Tessa had brown eyes when she has in fact grey eyes! Thank you for pointing this out to me. Enjoy…**

The Devil was one of Will's preferred nocturnal locations. Unlike many other Shadowhunters, who would turn up their noses in disgust on hearing the term 'Downworlders', Will thoroughly enjoyed their presence there. The tavern always had a smoky, smothering atmosphere about it. But it was always warm during a cold London night and there was always an interesting tale to be heard. Not to mention the infamous ale that was served there rumoured to contain an ingredient not too dissimilar to those put into a drink one would find in the Seelie Court. However Will, along with a few others, knew the truth about the secret ingredient – there was none. It was just a very wholesome brew, unlike the mundane sewage water that was swigged by the pint in most mundane public houses.

On this particular evening, Will was sat in the corner of the tavern, accompanied by a glass of the ale and a Dickens novel. _She loves him really_, he thought. _But she knows that they're not meant to be together. They're too different. _Will knew what was coming at the end of the story – Pip would end up with Estella of course. He sat, his head cocked to one side. His hair was a wild frenzy of black, much similar to the storm that was raging outside the windows and causing the shutters to bang and groan. There were purple shades beneath his eyes. Will had not had a full night's sleep in weeks. _Since _she _came._ He sighed, as his eyes were weary and straining in the dim light. Will snapped shut the book and let it fall lazily onto the table in front of him. He followed the veins of the wood; watching where each line weaved a path across the deep, stained surface until dropping off the brink of the table.

"'Nother one Mr. Herondale? You're lookin' rather in need of some company." Will looked up to see the bar tender, Rufus, looming over him. Rufus was about 7 foot tall, his shoulders hunched and his face wore a gaze much like one of a sad child. It was said that he was a half-giant, and despite his friendly demeanor, he was not someone that Will often chose to defy.

"Not tonight my dear fellow," Will's voice betrayed the strength that was ebbing from his heart. "I suppose those weres will be wanting another pint though." He looked over to a rowdy crowd of young werewolves who were howling with laughter, occasionally banging upon their table causing the glasses to clatter.

"You're probably right, sir. Oh," Rufus, as he was turning away, looked back at Will. "There was a woman in 'ere a few nights 'go. Thought she was a mundie at first. But she asked if there were any Shadow'unters in the area. Told 'er no of course. You be on the watch ma boy."

"Always am Rufus. Thank you." Will attempted a half smile as the giant walked away towards the werewolves at the other side of the room. _Any Shadowhunter, and most Downworlders would know there was an Institute in London. And if she was a mundane, why was she looking for us?_ It was strange, and the question sat uneasily in Will's head, amongst the other thoughts that were floating at the forefront of his mind.

"- and after a few days, we thought he'd never wake up. But on the fourth morning, his eyes, they opened and well, you'd never believe it if you hadn't seen it with your very own eyes." Will's ears pricked. He caught the last words the first werewolf had said, and then inclined his head in order to catch his companion's reply.

"What? You mean he just, just, woke up?" the other wolf said incredulously.

"You had better believe it. And they were no longer that horrible silver anymore. He sat up, and then asked where he was." _Silver eyes. Jem had silver eyes._

"No way. You're lying. You don't wake up from a coma like that. The stuff those weres are taking, you just don't wake up."

"I'm telling you Emmett, it's the truth. And I've heard it's not the first time it's happened." Will didn't know what to make of what he'd just heard. A cure for Jem's illness? That was too good to be true. He'd spent most nights for the past few years searching for a cure, an answer, and it seemed as if he could find it now. Will allowed the smallest of flames to flicker into life in his chest. Hope.

The werewolves were now leaving their perches on the bar. Both of them heading towards the tavern's exit. Will had to follow them, he had to know where they were going and see if what he had heard had any truth in it. _And if it did…_

Will stood, carefully trying not to alert the wolves to him leaving the tavern in their stead. He grabbed his coat from the hooks on the way out of the porch and stepped out into the roaring chaos of the night. The wolves spoke in muted voices as they rounded corner after corner, alley after alley. They didn't notice that a silhouette was stepping into each of their own steps. Any other hunter would have been sniffed out by the wolves, as the wind howled about them blowing any other being's scent right to their nostrils. Not Will's. He was a Shadowhunter. There was a Mark on the crook of his elbow, that swirled and spidered across his ivory flesh. It gave him stealth. Will blended into every shadow cast across each street, and moulded into every stone wall. He felt that they were getting rather close to London Bridge station, and looked about him for any significant clues as to where the wolves were headed. He rounded the next corner and turned to stone.

Against a wall stood a broad figure, dressed in an elegant cloak that touched the dirty cobbled pavement. His hood was drawn. With no source of light but the moon, which was being chased by storm clouds across the sky, Will could not make out the face of the person behind the heavy hood. Yet he could see more of his companion. The second person in the alleyway was shorter, whose profile lacked a nose and whom gave off a nasty kind of static electricity. He made Will's senses tingle, and not in the excited way that a storm always raised the hairs on your arms, but the way that made every nerve in Will's body feel like bursting into action. The two figures were talking quietly, with the larger man occasionally raising his voice in some sort of uncontrollable anger. Will couldn't make out what they were talking about, and it made him desperately curious. Then, the smaller man began to walk away. He began walking in the direction that Will was standing in. The Shadowhunter dived back behind the next corner. After waiting a few seconds, Will peered round the corner. The large cloaked man had disappeared. And where had the shorter man gone? Will had been certain he was coming this way. There was a hissing noise behind him, and Will reached into his coat, his fingers clasping around the familiar hilt of his seraph blade.

"_Grigori!_" Will cried as he spun around, bringing the seraph blade, now blazing with heavenly glory, in an arch over his head. There was the smell of burning meat as he rounded on the demon, which had lost one of his arms to the sting of Will's blade. The mutilated limb fell to the ground, dissolving into an acrid black mess on the pavement. The demon hissed again. Will took in the appearance of the creature. It appeared, to an extent, much like a human form. Only it had four arms, scaled skin and eight eyes. These eyes were black, emotionless pits. The demon man lunged at Will for a second time, but the young nephilim was too fast. He rolled the right in the last second, and used to momentum to carry himself gracefully into a standing position. The other-dimensional creature made a final sweep at Will with its long taloned hands. Will spun the blade around in his own pale hands, using years of training accompanied with the eye-shaped Mark on the upright side of his hand, and plunged the blade of glory into the demon's chest. It collapsed in on itself, leaving Will standing alone in the street. _What just happened? Who was the man in the cloak, the woman in the tavern?_

* * *

A drop of water fell onto Will's shoulder, but he didn't notice. He was tired; left weak from lack of sleep and he realized he hadn't eaten in a day or two. The rain began to fall again, yet there was no viscous gale or tempestuous sky. Just the night and the weeping heavens. Quickly, Will's coat was sodden by the downpour, but he noticed this neither. _I let that wolf get away, _he thought. His heart was sinking, and he felt like a drowning man in all of his confused feelings. How hard he tried to make people hate him. How hard he searched for a way to save his friend. How hard he resisted the urge to gather Tess in his arms, and never let her go.

There was no light inside the Institute as Will walked blindly along the labyrinth of corridors. Only his familiarity of the place led him first to Jem's door as he paused to lean his forehead against the wood, then correctly back to his own room. He tore off his coat, ripped his shirt over his head and flopped onto his poster bed. All the energy left his muscles, fiber by fiber. He turned over onto his back and stared at the beams crossing the ceiling. Will saw each line as if they were cuts in the skin of the ceiling, his skin. Each wound felt like every time he saw Tess. But his pain was not something an _iratze_ could heal. Only she could make it go away._ But that could never happen. Not ever_.

Then Will let sleep take him away from it all, for the first time in a long time.


	4. The Last Dream

There was a knock at Will's bedroom door. He sat up in his bed and froze, propped up on his elbows waiting to hear if he had definitely heard a knock. A light tapping on the door came again, barely audible. _There is someone outside your door; you'd better go open it then hadn't you?_ Will sighed, and jumping out of bed he padded barefoot across his circular room to the high arched wooden door. The balls of his feet were cold against the wooden floor, like walking on ice. Will cracked the door open, barely enough to see who was bothering him at this time. Not that he was sleeping very well anyway, as his nights were often fretful. That's why he preferred to spend them wandering. Despite the weak illumination, there was no mistaking who had knocked. Tessa.

Swathed like a child in her white nightgown, she stood without any of the fanciful material that was the style of this season. Her hair was loose from pins and began to dance around her face with the slightest movement. Her skin was ghostly pale. It was like Will had had a scummy film removed from his eyes. He had seen even entirely naked women before, yet none had captured his gape as she had. Tessa Grey was everything he craved and here she was, standing in his doorway, and saying his name. "Will? I'm ever so sorry to disturb you. In fact, I almost turned back at the top of the stairs, but…" Tessa stopped slowly, her thoughts running all together as she stared into those profound blue eyes. Will stared back. The usual flutter in his heart was more of the wings of a great bird of prey beating, trapped inside his ribcage. He realized that something needed to be said. A gentleman would not just stand gormlessly; leaning against the great stone arch that was the entrance to his chamber. His nose inhaled the solid cold English air, streaming into his room from his bedroom window, until his lungs started to protest.

"Tessa," he said rather startedly. "Did you wish to borrow a book? Or were you looking for somewhere? I know how it seems one can get lost in these halls at first but you get more familiar the longer you stay here-" Tessa interrupted him.

"I came to see you, Will." She said his name slowly, savoring the word in her mouth, rolling her tongue around it. He let go of the door, and it swung inwards as he stood trying to think of something, _anything_, to say. "What you said, that day on the roof," she swallowed and the words came out strangled, "it was like you put your hand around my heart and squeezed. And I wanted to come to you and confront you but everything I was going to say is gone now." Tessa breathed out in exasperation as the other person sucked in a gasp.

"Tess, I think that you should come in." _Tess_, he thought. _I shouldn't. I can't do this_. Will half stumbled back into his cavernous room, and the small figure walked in. Tessa walked confidently over to his bed, and sat on it. _Get out! Just get her out!_ Will closed the door with a flick of his wrist and drank in the sight of _her_ on his bed. He should be telling her to go and never, ever dare come to his room again. His mouth would not say those words – it refused to. He almost fell into the door, relying on its strength to keep his upright. This had to be a dream.

"You are the last dream of my soul…" Will whispered to no one.

"What was that?" Tessa asked. Will said a murmured 'nothing'. She looked up from wringing her hands, and into his face. Will felt her gaze crawling from his chin, across his cupid's bow lips and up along his cheekbones.

"What I said, it wasn't what I feel. You see… Argh! How can I say this without sounding completely and utterly absurd? You shouldn't be here! I just don't understand." He pulled at his hair, and her eyes glazed over with pity. _Pity? She should HATE him._ He began stepping forwards, one step at a time. Will had his hands out by his sides in an unwitting ask for forgiveness. He was almost at the bed. "Tess all I can say now is… is…" He didn't know what there was to say. She needed to run away, as fast as she could from him. "I can't do it. I-I can't ask you to go. But you should." His better judgment was running away from him. Will could close the distance between them in just one step.

"Shhh. Will," she reached for him, and in that moment, his heart collapsed. It folded in on itself like crumpling an origami sculpture in his fist. The space was closed.

"Please Tessa, forgive me," Will lost all control and the tears he had been holding onto since he left his parents, since he started this hunt for Jem's cure, all came raining out. She raised up to wrap her arms about his torso, and he locked his around her neck, his hands lost in her hair. Tessa planted small kisses along his breastbone, where his nightshirt exposed it. They both sunk to the floor as Will's knees gave out beneath him. He had never felt so weak. He knew no Mark could help him now.

They lay there, on the floor, on his white rug made from thick sheep's wool. Will dragged his love, his heart, into his arms and she let him hold her while he wept. They stayed like this for some time. Rain came and beat against the windows, spitting in through the lone open one, and then it was gone. The sobs had subsided when Will felt Tessa suddenly convulse within his muscled arms. She started shuddering, like shocks coursing again and again through each and every nerve in her body. Tessa would have cried out in pain but she couldn't take in the air, her mouth silently gasping. Will was leaning over her, stroking her hair away from her face. He himself was shaking. "No, Tessa no! Tessa, please no, no, NO!" He screamed; an empty cry for help. _It's happening. Please no, oh Angel don't take her from me! Not _her_._ Then as quickly as the seizure had started, it stopped. A black trail ran from the corner of Tessa's mouth, in an awkward line across to the beginning of her jaw. Her grey eyes stared up through him, lifeless. Will couldn't see; everything was a blur of salt and sorrow. She was limp in his arms and he knew that no amount of begging would bring her back. _This_ was his curse.

Gasping as she had, Will searched the darkness for anything to calm him. Tessa has just died in his arms. There was a light sheen of perspiration collected on his white skin, like morning dew on the pale skin of a silver birch tree. He found himself on his bed. The sheets were gathered about his waist. Will's chest was bare and he wore only the Marks he would wear forever. He clutched at his chest, trying to piece his heart back together. Leaning over the side of his bed, witchlight in hand, he saw there was nothing on the floor but his rug and his shirt.

**This wasn't where I had planned to go with this story – i.e. including the Tessa/Will love scenes. But I enjoy writing them and I hope you enjoy reading them! **


	5. Chapter 5

Will stumbled into the dining hall like a drunk; his hair resembled more of a wild animal's rather than that belonging to a young London gentleman's. All eyes fell upon him as he slumped down into the nearest chair and swung his legs up onto the table, knocking aside a plate in the process.

"Will, as lovely as it is to have you with us for breakfast for once, I would prefer it if you removed your feet from the dining table." Charlotte strained to keep a smile on her face – it didn't quite reach her eyes. Will sighed heavily as if she had asked him to walk up a mountain. Painfully slowly, and it was painful as his muscles ached like hell, Will lifted his legs from the table and rested them instead, on the chair opposite his under the table.

"Thank you, Will-" She was interrupted by a high, and to Will, an immensely irritating voice. He knew looking up would take him to a small, pale blonde head. The head would be adorned with pearly pins and the face with powder.

"Why _are_ you gracing us with your presence? We never have you with us for breakfast. You were out last night weren't you? What were you doing?" Jessamine. Will lazily dragged his eyes across to stare at her. His eyes bore into hers so intensely, that she had to look away. Another voice spoke up. It was Jem's familiar soft tone.

"She does have a point, Will. This is something of an occasion almost," Will glanced briefly at Jem before looking away to his nails that he began inspecting, as if they were something of great interest.

"Like my attendance at breakfast, Jessamine's 'points' are non existent." He knew he was being difficult, but deep down he also knew that Jem would always forgive him it.

Jessamine began to protest. "I prefer it when you aren't here. You're always in such a foul mood, Will," She lifted her nose haughtily. "And quite frankly, I don't care for it." Will barked a laugh. Charlotte dropped her fork onto her plate. Henry looked nervously at her, then to Will. Jem looked at Will, trying to catch his parabatai's eye and willing him not to carry this petty argument on, but instead Will ignored him.

"You care for nothing but the artificial, Jessie." His words like demon poison, cut through her conviction. "And that perhaps, is why the care that people show you is equally as artificial." He was cruel. There was a clouded darkness in his eyes, and he was being drawn deeper into that part of him that had been created to ward off affection. Water pooled in Jessamine's eyes, her mouth pursing tightly. She pushed back her chair and it dragged coarsely across the floor. Then she stormed out of the dining room, and Will could make out the sound of her footsteps quickening into a run after she had passed out of the room. The edges of his lips curled.

"Oh, Will." Charlotte sighed, her head falling into her hands. Will cared for Charlotte deeply, as she had been a constant maternal presence in his life at the Institute, despite being only a few years his elder. She rose from the table and walked quietly from the room. The resulting atmosphere was so thick with tension that Will thought he could probably reach out and grab a handful of it. He looked to Jem, who was now the one who would not meet the other's eye. Instead, Jem had fixed his gaze upon something across from him, beside Will. Following his gaze, Will swiveled his head quickly to see the one person his eyes had not fallen upon since entering the room. The one person who's face he didn't want to see again after last night. Tessa sat straight against the high back of the chair. She was looking into her lap. The dream came back to him. _Her grey eyes stared through him, lifeless_. He pushed it away. Will hated for her to see him be like this. _It's not the real me! _He longed to tell her this. But he didn't, of course.

It was Jem who broke the silence. "I might go for a walk while the sun is not quite up and the streets are almost empty." He softened his face. "Tessa?" She looked up at him, her eyes widening just a little.

"Yes?" Will couldn't tell what she was thinking, and not for the first time was he wishing that there was a Mark that allowed him to know such information.

"Would you care to join me? I do find that this place can become a little… Stuffy." Jem did not glance at Will, but Will glared at him.

"I would care. Very much, you're quite right… Stuffy.' They both stood up from the table, and walked beside one another out of the room. Jem looked back to Will with pity in his eyes. _Why pity?_ It was the same look he had seen…

There was a chesty clearing of the throat. It came from Henry, who had been sitting there the entire time. Will looked at him, his lips quirking up at the corners. Then he rose from his seat and clapped his hands together, rubbing their calloused surfaces against each other as he pivoted on the heel of his foot and began walking away.

"And that," Will almost shouted, "is why I don't do mornings! I'm going back to bed." His voice echoed through the halls and he hoped the others had heard him. He stalked back to his room.

Dusk was falling over London, blanketing the city in shadow. The sun had not long disappeared, but already the moon had taken residence in the sky and hung, a silvery crescent. His morning's mood had not improved with a few hours of reading and general time wasting, and Will felt like provoking something or someone tonight. _It was a shame Gabriel Lightworm wasn't around_. He was striding down the side of a large house with tall elegant bay windows. Inside he saw opulently dressed mundane aristocrats enjoying themselves, wasting food that would feed a much poorer family for at least a week. Will kept his head down as he made his way into the city's underworld, a few stray curls falling in front of his eyes. There was no need for him to attract unwanted attention. _Not that I couldn't handle himself._ His boots tapped across the pavement – it was the only immediate sound. He was too far for the chaotic tide of rushing carriages to meet his ears. Will halted, looking up at the building facing him. To any mundane it would fit in with the dirty bricked apartment buildings found typically in this area. Yet if one stripped away the glamour, the brick would turn to painted dark green. The windows were march taller, more gothic in style, with the patchwork lead tracing the glass windows. Before Will was a cherry wood door with a silver handle in the shape of a wolf's head. For a second, he was afraid to grab it incase it might animate and bite off his finger. _You never knew with these faerie places_. It couldn't have been real silver though. Or a real wolf for that matter. His knuckles came down hard on the door, and he watched the muzzle of the beastly handle twist as the door was heaved open, and a face appeared. Will spoke first.

"I've come for my usual parcel." He kept his tone neutral, his face stony. The face nodded. It was some sort of deformed human shape. Reaching only up to Will's waist, the creature had long pointed ears and icy blue eyes set into a face that had a hooked nose. The door slammed shut, the gust blowing the stray curls away from his face. A few moments later, the door opened again and the creature held out a small wooden box. He also held out his small hand, into which Will dropped a bag of coins. The creature then inclined his head for a second time, and closed the door. Will put the box into his pocket, which was surprisingly deep, and then began walking back towards the lavish town houses.

After walking for some time, he came to a stop outside another door. There was the hint of morning in the sky. Yet this doorway had a lantern hanging above it, a large brass knocker, and was painted red. There was also a small stained glass window in the top of the very tall door, too high up for anyone to look through it. _Maybe Rufus could see through it_, thought Will. He lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall against the wood, making a deep thud. The door swung open lazily to uncover a lobby adorned in only frosty shades and gold, with a large spiraling staircase in the corner. It appeared, and Will was careful when judging appearances, that the door had opened of its own accord. Will's hand went to the dagger at his belt, each finger curling itself around the smooth hilt. No one just let someone who had knocked on his or her door just _walk in_.

"William. What can I possibly do for you?" An amused drawling voice came from above Will's head. He looked up to see Magnus at the top of the staircase wearing a long deep jade coloured Asian dressing gown, and many a jeweled ring on his fingers. On his feet were a pair of matching slippers, which were soundless as he took step by step own the stairs, his hand trailing slowly down the gilded bannister. His feline gaze added to his striking demeanor. Magnus reached the last step, his gaze running the length of the Shadowhunter's body. The boy could not help but feel a little, transparent. Conversation would hopefully draw Magnus' attention. And his gaze.

"I heard a rumour. One that I think you may have heard too." There was seriousness in Will's voice that seemed to erase the smile from Magnus' face. The warlock waved in the direction of the door as Will walked forwards into the lobby, and the door swung shut. Magnus' eyes widened slightly, but not in surprise.

"Ah. Yes, the werewolf that apparently awoke from a drug induced coma. A coma that none has ever woken from before. Known to be fatal until such event occurred. Yes," Magnus' face darkened, "I have heard."

"Do you think it is possible?" Will asked, not daring to let any inch of hope take hold of his voice.

"No. I do not." There was no stutter or hesitation. Magnus' face was unreadable, his cat pupil eyes narrowing as he tried to read Will's reaction.

"Could there be any chance? I mean it could have been-"

"Sweet William, I have been around for a long time. I have seen my fair share of drugs and illnesses and diseases. I think that by now I would be able to tell when there is, in most cases, no hope." Will felt the muscles in his face relax. Every inch of his body was numb; as he dug his fingernails into the calloused palm of his hand, Will felt nothing as blood started to well from the small wounds. The wounds went deeper than flesh. Magnus cast him a concerned look and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

"I shall look into it. I give you my word." He lingered, and then decided to carry on. "You've been visiting the Hall of Light, haven't you?" The warlock paused a second time, allowing for Will to respond. He didn't. "I knew there was some portal activity in the area, it didn't take long to find out where and who was transporting someone to Paris. There's only one item in that hall. I've never seen the old thing myself, always wanted to. I hope you find what you're looking for Will," Then more quietly, "I just don't think you shall."


	6. Chapter 6

The sun forced its way through the fabric that was draped across the windows, casting florid purple shadows across the room. He was sat very comfortably on a large plush cushion with fat tassels on each of the four corners. Sunlight squeezed itself through the gap between the curtains to gently warm his back. A groan came from the other side of the room, and Church pried open his eyes, and watched as last night's intruder stretched his Marked arms above his head whilst yawning. Church could stretch much better than that; he practically invented the morning stretch! The boy sat up amidst the confusion of purple that were his bed covers. His hands found their way to his striking eyes, and rubbed the sleep from them before he fixed his gaze upon the fat Persian cat whom was staring at Will from behind icy blue pupils. It was more than slightly unnerving. The cat had a sort of human manner, but nevertheless a more likeable character than Jessamine.

"Morning, Church." Will croaked with an effortless voice. He was not in his own room, but had stumbled in his drunken state into the closest room he could find, his mind spinning.

As the sun had first diluted the night sky this daybreak, Will Herondale had staggered up each monumental step of the Institute, _like climbing Cadar Idris_, he had thought. His stomach had growled and churned at him, begging to set free that which it had consumed earlier in the night. Will knew he had had to resist it. Before collapsing onto he floor like the discarded doll of a bored child, he had spoken only one name. "Jem. Jemmy, Jemma, James." He had then burst into song,

"Oh I feel as if I could cry,

for my Jemmy.

Why must you die?

I have known no substance so sweet,

Than your habit.

Shh! I must be discreet.

Don't leave me alone,

My feelings amock.

With that girl, all alone,

Our fair lady – a warlock!"

Will was gripped in a fit of hysterical giggling. He tumbled across the floor, throwing his head back to let loose his laughter. Something else gripped him, but under his arms this time - he was dragged to the bedside and heaved onto the mattress. It sagged under his weight. Will then patted the covers with his hands like a toddler might pat in anticipation of food.

"I've always hated purple." He had said. Then the laughs turned to sobs, and the sobs into sleep.

Church meowed, and then arched his back dramatically before prancing off the cushion and slinking out of the room. "Yeah, that's it!" Will yelled after the cat. "You run back to Jem, I know he's your favourite." _He's everyone's favourite_. Mimicking the little beast, Will himself swung himself off of the bed and pulled on his trousers. He was feeling lazy and irritable. In these moods, he often wanted to rile others. Will yanked the door open to find Jem with his hand raised to knock.

"Six-fingered Nigel really should stop serving you beyond two pints of ale." There was humour in the soft notes in Jem's voice. His silver features lit up with a smile, that he directed at Will. The metallic edge to his features was not harsh and cold, but inviting, something Will believed only Jem could have done to the silvery symptom to his ailment. Jem was the only one who smiled at Will these days.

"But then, my innocent friend, I would not have sufficiently drowned my sorrows. Instead I might have merely got them a little wet." Will said. Jem's silvery eyes lit up, and his parabatai could see his scruffy reflection in them.

"Sorrows? I shall hear nothing of sorrow, only of joy!" The Asian boy grinned but it was not returned, and so began to ebb away. "You have a lovely singing voice Will. Perhaps if being a Shadowhunter ever gets too much, you could sing at the The Devil – 'Saturday Evenings with Will'." _Of course it had been Jem who had put me to bed._

Will cracked a smile, "What would I do without you, dear fellow? Now." he stepped past the other boy.

Jem turned and said, "Where are you off to now? Its mid afternoon already."

The boy with the dark hair and blue eyes shot a look at his feet, hair falling into his face, then up at Jem again. "I think I left something at The Devil. I'll get washed and dressed then head back there this evening." _Actually, I'll go to check on how Magnus is tracking those wolves I found the other night. Then I'll double back to the tavern to see if they, or the cloaked man, have returned._

"Oh," Jem looked awkwardly at his cane, "Would you like me to come with you?"

It hurt for Will to do this to his brother. Cruelty didn't come to him naturally as people perhaps thought, but he saw the spidering fissures in Jem's heart as they looked into each other's eyes and he told him, "It's a bad part of town. I'd be much quicker without anyone else." He couldn't take Jem, not tonight.

"That's alright, Will. Suppose I should go and finish my chess game with Tessa then." He paused, "She cares for you. Beyond her stubborn hatred, she cares. For both of us." Will said nothing. He couldn't summon the words; they choked and caught in his airways on the way up like a vampire attempting to say 'God'. Without another whisper, he barged past Jem as strode quickly down the dim hallway. He didn't run back to see Jem watching after him, the longing in his features.

* * *

There was no reply. No swinging open of the door, no gay greeting from the warlock. Nothing. Will stood back from the front entrance; he glanced up at the night sky. He could only make out the pinpricks of a few stars in the polluted darkness, and wondered what it should be like to observe the creatures on the face of this world. To watch as they struck at each other with steel, and loved each other mercilessly. The air was sticky, like a thousand tiny fingers were constantly stroking across his skin. Will saw himself in the reflection of the glossy varnished door. He looked taller, with broader shoulders and thicker arms and thighs. The stark blackness of his gear made his pale face and hands appear translucent almost. There were bruises under his startling eyes though, and beyond the runes for strength and stamina, there was a lingering fatigue in his muscles. Magnus was most likely out at a party. The Shadowhunter on the porch doubled back and skipped down the steps, the lantern light becoming less bright, and the side streets consumed him on his way to The Devil.

* * *

He was tired, eyes falling then opening. Will's lashes felt heavy but he kept his watch vigilant, still taking in every face that passed through the door of the tavern. That was when a familiar group of men walked in. they all had light coffee coloured hair with dark eyes. There were three of them, each tall and limbs thickly corded with muscle. All were dressed in black; smart cut suits, but not from the best tailors in the city. Will recognised the wolf when he flashed a glance at Will sitting in the corner. _"I saw it with my own eyes". _It was the same were from earlier that week, and he wasn't going to let him get away this time. His knuckles whitened as Will waited out the seconds, the minutes, the hours for the wolf to leave. All the time pretending as if he wasn't interested in anything going on. Then the weres stood, and began to make their way to the exit. Will became nothing more than a shadow – if they had turned to look behind them, they'd see nothing but the darkness. The wolves separated, fanning out into different streets as two decided they were going to crawl back to another inn. _The lone wolf remains_, thought Will, inwardly smirking. His prey was completely unaware to his presence as Will stalked the wolf through alley after alley. They were approaching the river bank, but Will didn't want to get the wolf out in the open. On his belt was a dagger, it had a short blade but it was sharpened to a point that could cleave flesh off the bone with no hindrance. Ingraved into the silver, was the motif of birds in flight. It was the same knife that Will had seen resting on his father's oaken desk back in his Welsh home. He had taken it from it's resting place the day he too, flew from his home like the birds on the dagger. There was a balcony above his head, and will launched himself up onto the ledge, allowing him to perch gracefully on the curling metal rail like a witch's cat. Then, in one fluid movement, he sprung, catching the wolf on the shoulders and bring him over in a flip so he hit the cobbles on his back. The young man was winded, and the Shadowhunter had already got his dagger at the pulsing throat of the werewolf. His voice a mixture of both threat and taunting, "It's silver, by the way. I don't think this has to be any messier than it needs to be." The wolf looked up at Will, there was a blossoming yellow rage in his eyes. He hissed through lengthening teeth.

"Shadowhunter! The Accords mean nothing to your folk. It's evident enough from this little display." His body was flexing and twitching, but he knew that a flick of Will's wrist could cut his throat, and would pack a hell of a sting from that silver blade.

Will smiled, "I'm not here to discuss Clave matters. I want you to tell me something," His voice was struggling to restrain the desperation. "The wolf who awoke, is it true?"

There was a flicker of something in the wolf's eyes. His head cocked slightly to the side and his grimacing scowl of hatred relaxed into a pallid look of curiosity. "You heard that?" He blinked, "Yes, it is true. Well, it is true in my eyes that I saw another were wake from that coma. I knew him… before." His throat pressed into the blade a little and he winced. Will didn't loosen his grip. "Before he got in with those people. He started going to this place down by the leech nest, you know, the other side of the river. Dangerous place for our people, but he still went. Then he just stopped coming back. Started staying there longer and longer until we'd heard that the blasted silver shit had got him." The man swallowed. "All I can tell you is that I don't know how, but someone was in there with him when we, myself and Jean, arrived. They left quickly after we turned up. And that was when he woke up, struggling for breath and confused to where he was." Will let is hand move slightly back and the wolf jerked forwards. The blade was at his throat again, "Hey, I was just trying to sit up."

Will smiled, "I wont keep you much longer, wolf. Did your friend tell you what they gave him, or some sort of spell they performed to cure him? Anything you might have heard?" The desperation was beginning to rain out into his voice. "Please."

The wolf paused, "Yes. The one who was beside him, who left, it was a woman. It couldn't have been a man the figure was too slight. Her hair was black and she had some sort of ring on." The wolf looked at will's hand. "Not too different from yours. No birds though." Will thought back to his conversation with Rufus. _A woman was in here looking for the Institute_.

"What was her ring like? Did you see her –" Will was cut off by steps coming round the corner, and he twisted. At the same time his grip on the wolf boy released and he scrambled free. Instead of running he stood for a second, and Will stared at him before looking back to the sound of boots on the pavement.

* * *

"Gabriel?" Will turned to look behind him, but the wolf had gone. "Why would you be around here at this time?" His jaw tensed, but there was an inviting smirk in Will's eye. He hated the worm for interrupting. "I thought you'd want to keep your boots clean."

The tall Lightwood boy shook his fair head to remove the strands from his eyes and laughed. "Herondale, my, my I knew this was a bad part of town but not _that_ bad." The smirk evaporated from Will's face.

"You're quite right Lightworm," Gabriel stiffened. "I thought that it couldn't sink any lower until I saw you here. Why are you here?" There was a challenge in Will's tone; he savoured the look of irritation on Gabriel's face.

"I came to meet my father. Not that it's any of your business. Strict Clave business in fact." His chin pointed to the stars. "Sorry." There was no hint of apology in Gabriel's voice. "Anyway, I suppose you like to get a name for yourself by loitering around here. The drug dens. The Downworlder nonsense. Gives you a bad reputation doesn't it. I bet you're not actually that bad, Will Herondale." _I'll show you bad you little worm_, vowed Will.

There were heavy strides behind Will and he turned to see Benedict Lightwood, standing behind him. The man was imposing, everything about him screamed warrior. He had a thick coat on, his shape looking larger than ever. Yet Will did not react with the usual nervousness that most whom were in Benedict Lightwood's presence did. His feet were firmly placed, he didn't flinch when Benedict leaned in closer and said, "William Herondale. I have heard you like to dally in this area. Just be wary of the company you keep." The sound of his words was gravelly, and deep. Not unlike a werewolf's growl.

"Of course, Mr. Lightwood." Their eyes clashed as they tried to make the other look away. "I tried to avoid Gabriel but he just insisted on making conversation with me." Will heard Gabriel say something about dirty Welshman, but ignored him.

"Silence, Gabriel. He is just a child after all." Benedict left Will and motioned for his son to follow him as they strode away.


	7. Chapter 7

A fire licked at the blackened tiles lining the fireplace. It crackled with satisfaction as it swallowed up log by log as the afternoon dragged on. Will was sat in a high backed armchair, sleeved in a stripy red and gold fabric, his legs curled under him and his black hair falling wildly about his angelic face. Those magnificent eyes of his were staring intently on the yellow pages of an old text, one his eyes had not laid on since he was a child. _Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires._ He always returned to the classics. Shakespeare was often one of Will's companions on cold, gloomy afternoons such as this. There was always a way to see yourself in the rhyming couplets, as if in each story, your own predicament was spun. Will saw this now. His desires were certain to stay deep down in the depths of his mind. The book was held open between his thumb and forefinger, and in his right hand, Will held the pointed end of his father's dagger. As he twisted and twirled it in his fingers, he dared the edge to cut him and draw blood. But it didn't. And his mind turned to the encounter with the young werewolf, as well as how irritated he had been left after Gabriel and his dear daddy interrupted. He had known the were hadn't been lying, but it was now his task to find the were who woke up – the survivor. Once again his mind wandered back to the haunting words of Macbeth.

"Will," a voice came from the shadows cast by the fire. Tessa was hovering by the doors to the library, her body adorned in gatherings of silver fabric. The dress had a low cut and gave Will a taste of what lay beneath. Her pale chest curved out above the white trim, her clockwork angel hung in the hollow of her throat. Will's gaze drew upwards to the enticing line of her jaw, then to her lips that he so wanted to kiss, and to her stony eyes. "Will?" His concentration broken, the knife in his hand teetered on the edge of his finger, and then fell. The long pale Marked arm snapped out and caught the heirloom, not before it sliced a long gash in his palm.

Will cried out in surprise more than pain, but Tessa assumed he was hurt. "It- ouch. Tessa, you shouldn't really go around sneaking up on people like that. You could, no, you _have_ caused an accident." He put on his false scornful voice, but there was a smile threatening to creep into his cheeks.

Tessa's eyes furrowed together, "Is it bad? Can you do one of those _iratze_s?" There was a hint of concern in those words, yet Will questioned whether he had heard it at all.

"I could. But I think I shall let it heal the old mundane way. It shall be a reminder to not play with knives." A full out grin lay across his face, and he watched as it infected Tessa's face too.

She looked into his face, then at the wound. "We should wrap it up, staunch the bleeding." Her hands were around his palms, subtly caressing the dips and veins on his skin.

Will cleared his throat very quietly, "'Tis but a scratch'." Tessa's face still held the ghost of a smile.

"Shakespeare. Again," She was kneeling down beside his legs where he was leaning over he and she wrapped a strip of cloth she had torn from her underskirt around his hand. "Something new next time perhaps?"

Will didn't pull his hand from hers, but instead said with a challenge in his voice, "I held a brief debate with myself as to whether I should change my ordinary attire for something smarter."

Her face went blank, then, "Charlotte Brönte." And it lit up as if she had found a bucket of gold at the end of a rainbow. Will frowned.

He looked up at her, "I am too fond of reading books to care to write them, Mr Erskine." Will ran a hand through his mane casually, as Tessa bobbed up and down on her knees excitedly.

"Oscar Wilde – Dorian Grey!" She laughed, throwing her head back and rocking forwards before clapping her hands together. Her beaming face was enough to melt any man's heart.

A growl emanated from the base of Will's throat. "Fine. Try and guess this one. 'I know enough of the world now to have almost lost the capacity of being much surprised by anything'." Tessa stared at him, biting on her lip.

"I-I Oh!" The smirk on her face was almost unbearable as Will held in his breath. "Dickens, Copperfield." And he let it go as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He was impressed.

"Yes. Well done. Next time I shan't go so easily on you." He was suddenly very aware of Tessa leaning against his knees. The touch through the material of his trousers was burning his skin.

Tessa said, "Nothing surprises you, Will Herondale?" Will shook his head, curls batting lightly against the side of his face. In the dim glow of the fire, he looked so vulnerable.

Colour rose into his cheeks. "You didn't do so bad, Tess. Coming at me with a ceramic pot." _Tess? She's not yours, Will, _he scolded himself.

She laughed lightly, a warm, soft sound. Tessa tucked a curl behind her ear as Will watched intently. "You could have been any sort of crazy person. Oh wait – you are!" They both burst into merriment. Will sat back in the chair, as the mysterious warlock girl rested her chin on his knee, staring up at him. This was perfect; this was how it was meant to be. _If Jem wasn't in love with her, and I wasn't cursed_.

"I have to go. I told Magnus I'd-" Will stopped in his tracks.

Tessa lifter her head and asked, "Magnus? Why are you seeing Magnus?" Will stood up.

"It's not really anything you need to worry about. Tell Jem I'll be back to beat him at cards before the night is over." He stared at her for one intense moment, before striding out of the room. Will didn't look back. He couldn't.

The night air was brisk – a thousand little daggers pinpricking Magnus' face. He was dressed in his usual attire composed of tight trousers, with a navy coat, ruffled shirt and a bright pink cravat. All this shrouded behind a thick woolen cloak the colour of mulled plums at Christmas. He was leaning against the gate pillar to the Institute, and could feel the hard cold stone seeping into his back. One leg was pulled up, his boot sole resting against the pillar. The doors opened, and the young nephilim skipped down the steps in full Shaodwhunter gear. Magnus did like the was it clung to his sculpted body. But most of all, he was never disappointed by the way that the Herondale boy took away his breath. Those deep blue eyes set into perfectly chiseled cheekbones with a frame of coiling black hair that bounced around his angel face. _He _is _beautiful_, thought the warlock. Magnus raised his hand in a wave, and blue sparks cracked from his fingertips. Will raised his eyebrows slightly, but there was sadness in the boy's face. The boy seemed to have aged more every time Magnus saw him.

"I traced that wolf for you." Magnus tried to keep any flattery out of his voice. 'Nice job getting that rune into his pocket." The boy smiled like an innocent child, but Magnus knew the damage a smile like that could do. Everyone fell for boys that looked like this.

Will shrugged, "It was nothing. You've just got to get us there." He had crossed his arms and was looking at Magnus expectantly.

"Yes, yes. Shall we go then, or would you prefer to mope around here all evening?" He turned on his heel and started walking away. He heard no footsteps behind him, but suddenly Will was in step with him. Magnus glanced at the boy from the corner of his cat eyes – Will was looking at his bandaged hand.

**So guys, I'm going on a field trip this week so I'll try to get the next chapters up asap but I apologise for the irregular/late uploads! Keep reading x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone, I'm so sorry you've had to wait so long but I've been really busy! This chapter is quieter than some of the others, I appreciate that, but stick with me for more! **

His steps were soundless, and like a cat he stalked his prey through the narrow streets of this dirty, urban jungle. London thrived in its industrial revolution. There was never a night where the lights of the factory district weren't alight and the furnaces not choking out their usual thick smog. Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw a flash of silver reflecting the smug glowing of the moon. He knew what is was – Magnus had an array of jeweled rings adorning his fingers, and with each movement they sparkled. The warlock had not let down the Shadowhunter yet, Will had been impressed so far as to how stealthy he had been. This was what Will thrived on. The familiar feeling of silence throughout his bones; they didn't dare rattle with each passing step. His hair blew slightly about his angel face in the light breeze, never betraying his eyes by blocking his view. The view that was sharp through the addiction to the completed Mark swirling about his inner forearm. The sting of the Mark had been satisfying, as he rarely got the chance to go out these days with Jem feeling… _under the weather_.

There was a light drizzle that meant that his black curls began sticking to the side of his head. A light sheen coated the hand that rested on the hilt of his seraph blade. It moved with every movement of his legs and bounced against his hips. They had tracked the werewolf to a tall, grey stone building not too far from the residence of his other warlock acquaintance, Hana. Yet this building needed glamour even more than Hana's place did. The walls were damp, and there were several types of grass and moss sprouting from the crevasses that spidered up the walls, the windows had dying flowers in the boxes, wilting in a last attempt to get as far away from the pile of stones as they could. Will wrinkled up his nose at the smell of sweat that seemed to seep from the building. Yes, this was definitely the place they were looking for.

Magnus also raised a preened eyebrow up as he took in the face of the drug den. His voice was low, "Will. This is _not_ the sort of place you should be taking people you've just met." A smile crept into the edges of his lips. "I certainly wouldn't ask to see you again."

Will snickered quietly. "Magnus, this is not a date. I don't often take out warlocks." He was smiling as his glamorous companion. Magnus looked back at the blue eyes boy.

"But you'd like too." He winked, as they stood in the protective blanket of the shadows waiting for someone to arrive so they could get inside. The nephilim was readying the weapons that lined, shimmering dangerously across his belt that wrapped about a slim waist. Magnus tried to keep his gaze above the belt.

"Alas, I would not. Not at this moment in my life anyway." Will slipped a knife into its sheath and it slid in with the familiar hiss of metal on smooth metal. The warlock smiled, lighting his cat eyes in the darkness of dusk.

"But you _would_." Magnus put a manicured hand on his hips. "Tessa is a warlock you know. I'm sure you'd very much like to take her on a jaunt about this wonderful city of ours." Will did not look up to give Magnus the satisfaction he was looking for, and instead just stared into the narrower end of the ally way.

He didn't turn when he spoke. "It doesn't matter what I _want_." Will kept the anger from his voice. It wasn't the fault of the warlock for what had happened to him. Magnus' face softened like ice cream in the sun. He opened his mouth to speak as Will snapped out a hand to prevent him from speaking. That was when a disheveled looking man stumbled out of the shadows and into the sliver of moonlight, and propping his weight against the wall beside the door of the drug den, he thumped a large dirty hand against the wood. Will made no noise. If the man decided to turn around and focus on the shadows behind him, he would see the tall boy clad in black gear with his hand over the sly face of a warlock. But he didn't. A gap on the door slid open with a grunt of effort, and a face masked in the darkness inside the building acknowledged the person outside the door and slid the bolt. The door protested with a deep moan as it was heaved open and the man hopped inside, like an eager child awaiting a new toy at Christmas. _He's not going inside for a group of tin soldiers_, thought Will. Just before the door could shut, Will flung his knife between the door and the frame. As the hulk behind the door stooped to check why the door wouldn't close, Will burst forwards and slammed the man's head into the frame of the door. Without any protest, his large body slumped heavily against Will, and he had to roll the heap of limbs into the corner behind the door before beckoning to Magnus to come in.

The warlock again raised his brows, "Nicely done, Mr. Herondale." Will, bent over as he yanked the body of the guard aside, looked up with a grin splashed across his face.

"That's only the entre. Close the door, it's drafty." He straightened and peered into the darkly illuminated opening hallway. This room had black and sky blue striped wallpaper, that was long faded by ages of smoke and bodies being rubbed across it's slightly raised surface. There was a navy runner that started at the top of what appeared to be a staircase, as well as another that lead up a second set of stairs. Magnus sniffed once, then motioned towards the case that descended into the smoky darkness. Followed by Magnus, Will quickly went down the steps and peered round the wall corner. Inside was row upon row of bunked beds, separated from each other by a heavy, roughly strung up curtains of rich Persian colours. Inside most of the beds, were figures that curled in on them. There was he sound of groaning, which distinctly reminded Will of his encounters with ghosts. This wasn't where they wanted to be.

In a bare whisper, "We need to find the manager's office. Whoever owns this palace of filth won't be found down here." They went up the stairs and then ascended the other set that they had both seen on their way in. At the top of the staircase, was a long corridor with only three doors in it. One stood apart from the others; it was cherry wood, framed by stark white.

"Now that looks a little more like the sort of place a drug lord would spend his working hours." Magnus looked at Will, questioningly.

"And how would you know what a drug lord does? Have you ever met a drug lord? And does one even call an owner of a den a 'drug lord'? I don't think so." Will tried the door handle, rattling it firmly. Its brass knob wouldn't turn all the way around.

"I happened to know a drug lord once, you know. Although I think calling her 'lord' would cause slight offense. Despite how accurate the term may be…" The blue eyes boy drew a long white instrument from his belt. The white seemed to glow itself almost, a pearly iridescent light. The thicker end had a coil of leather wrapped and knotted intricately around it, where the thinner end had a splash of black that looked like an inkblot on the tip. The stele was an heirloom. Something else Will had taken from his father before leaving his home in the Welsh hills, somewhere between Dolgellau and Twywn on the coast. His slender, rough fingers gripped the familiar object as he traced a rune across the waxed wood, and glancing back at Magnus with a face painted with satisfaction, Will swung it open and strode in.


End file.
